


Animus

by paklalat



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: BAMF Tréville, M/M, Steampunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:27:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2018001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paklalat/pseuds/paklalat





	Animus

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [And He Saw It Was Good](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2003598) by [RobinLorin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinLorin/pseuds/RobinLorin). 



The Captain is a storm. Lightning licks the length of his blade, tongues dancing from guard to hand. Wind tugs angrily at his hair, thick with sparks and the singed stink of the dead. They lie in piles around him, creatures no strength could drive a blade through. The Captain is as mindful of their strength as a summer storm minds the strength of the old oak it cracks in two. He burns them with fire and strikes them down with God's own wrath. He calls on wind and it leaps to his command as readily as any Musketeer.

d'Artagnan has seen enhancements that let a man breath fire and crush bone to powder, but this is no creation of metal and oil. This is a man entire, eyes alight with the rage of battle, hand strong with determination to protect his charges. It is humanity alone that has called this storm, that stands in its' eye and governs it with a will of iron.

d'Artagnan is not a man given overly to religious practice, but that night he joins Aramis in kneeling on the wet ground before they steal a few hours of sleep. Whether his words to God are ones of thanks or fear, Aramis does not know. He squeezes the shoulder of his young friend and leaves those confidences to God, and the shadows that swallow them.

-

They both find their destinies that summer. The Faire that brings them together also brings an airship from Italy. The boys cannot see it is a hovering wreck, barely fit for the tours it gives.

Armand, from a sprawling estate with all of the siblings to fill it, sees the symbol of man's worth to God. He did not deny humanity the sky, only demanded they use their own powers to obtain it. It is a magnificent machine, a triumph of mind over all things under the sun. Its' ruffling sails and humming engine murmur to him of a divinity beyond fields and scrambling siblings. Beyond even the brilliant, heart stopping smile of the boy at his side. It seduces him with the possibilities of man's infinite grasp, if he only has the courage to reach for the very face of God.

Jean sees a different world open beneath his feet as he hangs precariously over the ship's railing. He cares nothing about the splinters coaxing through his thin shirt and pricking at his stomach. A rope dangles just out of his reach, and his heart is full to bursting with the desire to grab hold and swing out into the sky. The stories of knights and pirates have never felt so alive as they feel now. The flapping sails fill his chest with the need to shout, to scream in strange and inarticulate joy. His legs burn with the need to run. To dare. To leap into the dangerously unfathomable. He knows then it is not just a passing fancy, he cannot be satisfied with life in his father's shop. Nor even on his kind uncle's stretching farm. There is a world spread beneath him and he must explore every far flung corner.

He must meet the men clever enough to lift humans into the sky. He must meet the men who dare to build such things. He yearns to dare where only men with pistols in hand may pass. He will wear a sword and bare his scars with pride. His enhancements will come from battle wounds instead of meaningless bar room brawls and stupid, petty accidents with thresher and scythe.

He loves his father, but he cannot stand to be so quietly noble. His blood sings not with the quiet hum of growing things and children, but with fire and whipping winds. He throws his head back and whoops with joy when the engine lurches them into motion. Jean leans over and kisses his friend on the cheek. Armand turns and smiles at him so rapturously that Jean is sure he must feel the same thing.

Both boys hold tight to their intertwined hands and watch the town slowly recede. Neither notice the spark that jumps from one hand to another.

  
-

Armand returns from seminary a good deal bossier, which Jean had not thought humanly possible. Of more interest are the shadows Armand now calls with ease. Armand refuses to feed him the line of the Church, about the power of ordination to bestow Gifts to those without. Yet he also refuses him the truth. Jean accepts it for the thing that it is. His doubts will only bubble forth years hence, when all that he has accepted as being only the way of his companion cut those that do not deserve harm. Now, it is a quiet source of pleasure. Now, he has nothing his friend does not. They are bound here too. It gives him a dangerous hope, that this tugging within his soul when the other is near is a natural thing.

That night, in defiance of his new vows, Armand gives him more reasons to hope.

That the priest walks in shadow, as opposed to his newly bloodied soldier's fire, is only right. They are meant to exist side by side, one never to be found without the compliment of the other. It is outside of their natures to be divided, outside of the laws of Nature herself. Though she may answer their commands in these small things, she brooks no disagreement in the bonds she forges.


End file.
